Split
by ttfan111robstar1
Summary: Steve Rogers has Dissociative Identity Disorder- better known as Multiple Personality Disorder. How will he react when he hears the diagnosis? How will this affect the team? Follow him on his journey to become whole. Rated M for graphic violence, child abuse, sexual abuse, and religion.
1. Sam

**A/N: I own nothing. I just really love Captain America. I Was inspired by the 2007 remake of the movie _Sybil _And the show _United States Of Tara._ The "Realization" Part was modeled after _Sybil. _It was too fun to write. I hope you guys like it!**

Steve Rogers considered himself to be pretty normal. He was part of the team known as the Avengers, but still did normal activities. He liked to sketch and draw. He fed the homeless when he saw them on the street. He worked in soup kitchens on sundays. Simply put, he lived a meek existence.

He also lived with a dark secret.

He'd been called the "Man Out Of Time", but no one knew how relevant and accurate that was. For his entire life he'd been losing seconds, minutes, hours, and even months of time. He'd never told anyone about it. Now, it was beginning again.

He'd been seeing the SHIELD psychologist for a few weeks. He hadn't told the man about his blackouts yet, considering nothing had occurred yet. Now, he had to tell. He felt nerves creep up his neck and radiate into his shoulders and stomach. Never in his life had he felt so bare. He tried so desperately to cover it up, but now it was going to be revealed. He took a shaking breath and opened the door. Doctor Holden smiled at him, with dark hair and a smile that would have made any Miss America feel threatened.

"Steve, how are you?"

Steve shook his hand and put on a smile. "I'm alright."

Doctor Holden could tell something was on his mind.

Steve sat in the chair as usual and played with the cuff on his sleeve.

"Is something bothering you, Steve?"

Steve nodded. "For a long time now."

"What is it?"

"I lose time." He said.

"What do you mean."

"Seconds, minutes, hours, weeks, months... All gone in an instant."

"How long has this been going on?" He asked, jotting short sentences on his notepad.

"Ever since I can remember."

"Even before the serum?"

Steve nodded. "Long time before." He was rapidly turning the cuff of his sleeve inside and out repeatedly.

"What happens when you lose time?" The doctor questioned.

"I don't know. I _never _know. All these blank spots in my memory... I don't even remember the transformation. It's all a hole." Without warning he stood up and went over to the window.

"I hate them." The voice was not that of Steve Rogers, the quiet, meek man behind the mask of Captain America. This voice was higher pitched, like it belonged to a little boy. His body seemed to have shrunken in on itself, making him seem small.

"Who do you hate, Steve?" Asked the Doctor, confused.

"The people." He said simply, not turning away from the view of the New York skyline.

"What people?"

"All the people. The ones who never do things or say things when they should." The voice was rising in pitch. "They never go to help. Nobody helps. Nobody cares. They never did, never! I'm gonna get out of here- I have to get out! There _has _to be a way out!" By the end he was nearly screaming as he punched a hole through the window. Doctor Holden quickly got up and ushered him away from the window.

"Are you alright?" He asked, examining his patients hand.

"You're asking about me?" He said in disbelief.

The doctor frowned. "Of course I am."

"You don't care about what I did?" The voice asked in shock.

"We're a secret agency, Steve. Windows don't cost that much to replace."

Steve suddenly turned furious and backed away, angry tears streaming down his cheeks. "That's all I ever hear about is money! Money, money, money, never enough money! All I am is people's money! I don't matter to people as long as they get what they want. Everybody uses me, just like they do Steve!" Suddenly the voice stopped and quickly corrected, "like they use me."

The good doctor was frozen. Out of all the possible things he could have diagnosed, he never expected this. He regained himself and took a step forward.

"Who are you?" He asked, directly.

"Steve." He said, matter-of-factly.

"No you're not. Who are you, really?" He asked. The boy looked at him astonished.

"Y-You can tell the difference?" He asked, walking a little closer to the psychiatrist.

"You bet I can." He said, putting a reassuring smile on his face. "May I know your name?"

The boy hesitated before saying: "I'm Sam. Sam Johnson." The psychiatrist was quiet a moment.

"How old are you, Sam?"

"Five."

The doctor wrote it down. "What do you like to do?"

"I finger paint. I don't like sketching cause I'm not as good as the others."

"Others? What others?"

"Can't tell," The boy said, becoming almost hysterical again. "I can't never tell nobody. Never, never, never!" He said, almost hyperventilating.

"That's okay." He reassured. "I just wanted to know. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Sam nodded quietly.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked the boy. He received another nod.

"Are you and Steve related at all?"

When the boy didn't speak he continued on, "Are you brothers, cousins, step-family? Do you have the same Father or-?" But before he could continue the boy's face shot up like a rocket and contorted with tears.

"No, no, no! He's not my father." The tears streaked his face.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry. I just wanted to know."

He gave the boy a few moments to calm down, and then asked, "Could I speak to Steve?"

The boy looked at him for a few moments before his eyes shut, then reopened.

"Steve?"

"Dr. Holden?" He asked in surprise before looking around the room. He saw small shards of broken glass on the floor and noticed the broken window.

"What happened?" He asked anxiously. "Did I do that?"

"You blacked out." He said simply.

"I'm so sorry, really I am. I'll clean it up and pay for it if-"

"That's quite alright, Steve, you don't need to worry about it." He let his words set in before asking, "Have you done this before?"

"All the time. Things get broken but I can never remember how."

"That's okay." He reassured.

"No, it's not. I'm not. Why is this happening?" He asked, looking helpless.

"I don't know." He said, looking Steve in the eye, "But we'll figure it out." There was a hard determination in the doctor's eyes as he said it. After Steve had left for the day, Doctor Holden spent the rest of the day researching everything he could find on Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Of one thing he was certain- Steve Rogers had multiple personalities.


	2. James

The day after the realization that Steve was dissociative came to pass, Doctor Holden sat in his office, pondering what to say to his patient. This was a disease not to be ignored, but the diagnosis was still too new. He had to figure out what happened to make Steve Rogers a multiple in the first place.

When he opened his door at three o'clock that day, it was Sam who was waiting for him. Sam waltzed in and Doctor Holden shut the door behind him.

"How are you today, Sam?"

"Okay."

"Do you want to talk about anything?"

"I want to draw."

"We can draw while we talk. Does that sound good?"

Sam nodded, and Doctor Holden got some crayons and computer paper from his desk. Sam began to draw, and the doctor asked, "Why are you here, Sam?"

"'cause." He said, drawing a blue tree. "'Cause I wanna be. I'm mad."

"What are you mad about?"

"The people." He said.

"Like who?"

"Like Steve's father." He held up the paper. "This is his father's tree. See? It's blue."

"Did you do something to make him Mad?"

Sam's breath hitched. "I won't tell. I won't. I won't." He looked around the room frantically and his eyes landed on the window. "I'm gonna break it." He said, sprinting toward the window. "I'm gonna get out of this house." He started to bang on it.

Doctor Holden went over to him and held his wrists. "You don't have to break it. You can go right through the door."

Sam shook his head, "I can't." He said, angrily, fumbling from the doctor's touch.

"Yes you can. It's right there, and it's not-"

"It's locked. The windows, the doors. All of them. There's no way out, never any way out!" His voice rose hysterically. "No way to get away from the hands or the music that hurt so bad! I HAVE TO GET OUT!" He shrieked, pounding on the glass again. Doctor Holden gripped his hands.

"What hands, Sam? What hands?"

"Dirty hands. Angry hands, coming at you all the time." He said, still struggling.

"Whose hands are they, Sam?"

"Can't tell. I won't tell. I won't, I won't."

"Alright." He said quietly, trying to calm him down. "You can tell me, Sam."

"NO. No." Came the reply as the boys eyes shut.

"Steve." He said when they opened.

"Hello, Doctor Holden."

"It's good to see you." He said.

"You too."

"Let's sit down, shall we?" He said, motioning to the chairs. Steve nodded and sat.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions, Steve."

"Alright."

"How do you feel about music?"

Steve was surprised. "I like it fine. My father sang hymns around the house growing up, and Mother sang in the church choir."

"And hands? how do you feel about hands?"

Steve looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Did anyone ever touch or hurt you with their hands?"

Steve was almost appalled. "No." Came the shocked answer.

"Steve," The doctor began, "When you black out in these... spells, someone else comes in and takes your place. His name is-"

"Sam Johnson." A voice began. It was a different one from Sam's- older and a bit gruff. It certainly wasn't Steve's. "I know." It said.

"Do you?" Asked the Doctor.

"I know what everyone does. All the time- especially Steve."

"What's your name?" He asked.

"James. But most people call me Bucky. I was named after his best friend in the war."

"Alright. It's nice to meet you, Bucky."

"You too, sir."

"What do you do, Bucky?" The Doctor asked.

"I communicate between them all. I keep order in the house, you might say."

"Are you related to the others?"

"No. I came from an orphanage. I ran away to help Steve."

"What about Sam? Do you know how Sam and Steve are connected?"

"Sam's last name, Johnson, was Steve's mothers maiden name. He cannot accept that Joseph Rogers is his father, so he never took up the last name. Sam gets out the anger that Steve wasn't allowed to have."

"Why wasn't he allowed to be angry?"

"Doctor, his parents were religious fundamentalists. They were devout Catholics. _Everything_ in that household was a sin. Anger in particular."

"You lived there?" The doctor asked.

"For a time, yes. I came when Steve was about three years old. I was the first one. Sam came shortly after me. He's still trapped in that house, you know. That's why he can't go through the door."

"Why is he trapped there, Bucky?"

"Because," He said nonchalantly, "Every reason for his anger is in that house. Having no way to escape makes him incredibly angry, and it often makes Matthew afraid."

"Matthew?"

"You haven't met him yet. Or the others."

"How many others are there?"

"Thirteen, including myself. You'll meet them all eventually."

"Bucky, how do you think Steve would handle it if I told him about you and the others?"

"That's why I'm here, Doctor. He isn't ready. It's too much for him to handle. Having blackouts is one thing, but telling someone their not alone in their own body is an entirely different animal. However, it might help to tell his team. Just so they don't worry if one of us runs off."

"I'll take that into consideration." He said, standing up.

"It was good to meet you, Doctor."

"You as well, Bucky. Have a good day."

"You too." He called, exiting the office. As soon as the man was out the door, Dr. Holden dashed to the phone.

"Patch me through to Director Fury immediately."

**Please Review!**


	3. Cross

Doctor Holden made his way to Director Fury's office, a bit nervous. With the arrival of Bucky, his diagnosis had been proven correct. How to tell the head of SHIELD that his best man was actually thirteen different people was something he hadn't been prepared to do. Nonetheless he'd done it and was now headed up to the Director's office to discuss his findings. He brought with him the recordings of the sessions taken by the camera. He didn't intend to show all of the sessions (His client still had the right to privacy), but he intended to Illustrate the difference in voice, posture, body language and everything else that proved them to be separate people. With only slight hesitation, he opened the door.

"Doctor Holden. Please, sit down." He said, gesturing to the chair.

"Thank you, Director."

"You know, You're a brilliant man, Doctor. We wouldn't have hired you if we didn't think so. But this is-"

"Stop." He interrupted. "Watch him first, then decide what you think."

Although surprised and a bit irritated over being interrupted, he watched. The first was Sam, looking out at the skyline, clearly hunched in on himself, and sounding like a little boy when he said, "The people." Next was Steve, apologizing as usual over something that was out of his control. Finally, there was Bucky, with tall posture that was incredibly formal and a voice that was clearly not Steve's. The doctor shut it off.

After a few moments of unnerving quiet, the director finally spoke.

"How many are there?"

"Thirteen." Said the Doctor, quietly. "I have to treat them all individually."

"What do you suggest we do here, Doc?"

"His team needs to know. This is something that cannot be avoided. It's a part of his every day life and they have to know if he's going to recover properly."

Fury paused a moment, contemplating the doctor's words before nodding.

"Agent Hill," He spoke into his earpiece, "get me the Avengers."

"Right away, sir." She said.

"How do you want to do this, Doctor?"

"I'll keep Steve outside while the meeting goes on. If he's not himself and one of the personalities takes over and wants to meet the Avengers, then they can."

The director nodded. "I trust your judgement."

Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Tony, and Thor sat in Director Fury's conference room, all unsure of why they were there. They tossed speculations around the table, but came up empty handed. More importantly, where was Steve? They couldn't have a mission without their Captain, could they? Director Fury stepped inside and they all stood.

"Director." Natasha greeted with a nod.

"You can all sit down." He said and took a seat at the head of the table.

"What's this about?" Asked Bruce, nervous to be in such a small room.

"And where's Steve?" Asked Clint.

"Captain Rogers is out at the moment, but he's the reason we're all here." Director Fury began. They all exchanged worried looks and looked for the Director to continue. "Captain Rogers has been seeing our psychologist, Dr. Holden, for a few months now. Today, he made a diagnosis that will affect all of the team." They stared at him intently, as he said,

"This morning, Steve Rogers was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder."

"And in English that means...?" Tony prompted.

"He has Multiple Personalities." Bruce finished. They were all silent for a long time. Finally, Thor asked,

"What are we to do?"

The director replied, "Keep an eye on him. He doesn't know about any of this yet. There's thirteen of them."

"Thirteen? Jesus that's a lot..." Said Tony.

The Director nodded. "He's outside with Doctor Holden right now. If he's one of the others, we've agreed you can meet him." They all nodded.

Nick Fury spoke into his earpiece. "Send them in."

Doctor Holden came in with Steve close by. They sat at the end of the table, and for a moment all was quiet. "Everyone," Doctor Holden spoke up, "This is Bucky."

"Hello." Said a gruff voice. A bit of a twang accented the "o" sound.

"Hello." Natasha said tentatively.

"How are you, Miss Romanov?" He asked.

"You know me?" She asked a bit surprised.

"I know everything that happens here. So yes, I know you, Bruce, Hulk, Thor, Tony, Clint... everybody."

"When you say you know everything-" Tony began but was cut off by an elbow in the ribs and Bucky continuing.

"I mean I know everything because I have all of his memories. I communicate and control when they come out."

"When do they come out?" Bruce asked, fascinated.

"It depends. When Steve can't handle an emotion or feels overwhelmed, one of us takes over. We've left him be the past few months so that he could try and rebuild his life, but when that didn't work, we took over again."

"How long have you been there?" Asked Clint.

"Since Steve was about three."

"Jesus..." Remarked Tony. They all shared his sentiment, but wanted it to be expressed in a better fashion.

"That's very impolite." A female voice corrected. They all turned to stare at Steve. He was looking at Tony with a disapproving gaze. Doctor Holden looked at him.

"I don't believe we've met yet." He said, extending his hand.

"Oh, how rude of me. Hello, Doctor. My name is Sarah." She said, shaking it.

"Like his mother?" Asked the Doctor. She nodded.

"After his Mother passed away he was terribly depressed and desperate for someone to love him again, so I was created to care for that side of him and keep house." She said. "I'm the keeper of all of them, you might say."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, someone has to take care of the brood," She said in an almost condescending way, straightening a stack of papers on the table. "Sam's much too young and Bucky is too busy. And Steven, well..." She trailed off, ending the statement. "It is my job to tend to the house and care for the younger children."

"How old are the children?" Asked the Doctor.

"Sam and Matthew are both five, and little Christian is only four years old. I haven't allowed him out yet. He's a bit of a hysteric."

"How so?" Asked Natasha.

"The poor thing is terrified of almost everything. Particularly Crosses and dishrags." She said, fiddling with her hands in her lap.

"Why?" Asked Tony.

"That's private." She said, quickly. "He'll tell you when he's ready." She turned to Doctor Holden. "Would you like to speak to Steve now?" She asked. He nodded. Sarah closed her eyes, and when they opened, Steve emerged.

"Doctor Holden?" He asked, a bit surprised.

"Yes, Steve?"

"Why am I here?" He asked.

"I was asked to escort you to this meeting." He lied quickly. "I'm sure there's something you're needed for. I'll let you be." He said and gathered his things.

"Captain, perhaps you'd like to escort the Doctor out for us?" Fury asked.

Steve smiled and nodded, internally nervous.

As they walked out the door, Tony finally spoke up.

"Well, at least he can still come back." He said. All of them nodded, solemnly.

They were about to adjourn the meeting when a scream was heard from in the hall.

They all leapt into action to see Steve confronted with a large wooden cross.


	4. Joseph

Steve was gone and instantly replaced by Christian, who, terrified of what would happen, ran away- zig-zagging through halls, flying down stairs and into the streets of New York. There was a tiny church nearby, and he dashed inside. There were stained glass windows, and little tiny crosses, but none that could hurt him. He sat in a pew and brought his knees to his chest, crying. Not five minutes later, Doctor Holden, along with the rest of the Avengers, entered the church. He heard the boy murmuring things like "I'll be good, I-I'll be good", and "Don't do that, don't do that." in a small, terrified voice. Doctor Holden sat in a pew behind him.

"Christian," He said softly, "What happened?"

"I-I'm bad." He said simply, crying.

"Who told you you were bad?" He asked.

"D-Daddy."

Doctor Holden paused, fearful of the response, but asked,

"What did he do to you?"

"H-H-He..." The tears streamlined down his face as he tipped his head backward. "H-He..."

_The house was unbearably silent as Steve shook uncontrollably. Daddy was in the kitchen getting dishrags. The big, wooden cross was already set up in the living room on it's post. He'd been audacious enough to ask to eat all of his dinner instead of giving some to the homeless, and Daddy turned to him with big, angry eyes and said,_

_"You have no concept of their suffering, so I'll show you real suffering."_

_He came back, and stripped the sickly and frail child of his clothes. He easily picked the child up and tied him to the large cross with the dishrags, saying,_

_"I have to do it, I have to. I just want you to be a good boy."_

_He tied a rag over the child's mouth and went to the piano to play his hymns. Every time the boy needed a breath, he had to pull himself up on weak arms. More often than not, he passed out from lack of oxygen. He was grateful for the darkness when, after the hymn was done, he was lashed across the back with a belt, if not once than twice. Daddy only let him down when he was satisfied._

"How often did he do this?" Asked the Doctor, trying to hide his disgust for the child's sake.

"When I-I'm b-bad. I'm a-always bad." He said, quietly.

The Avengers listened in shock, disgust, and pity. For a time, there was only silence. After a pause, Bucky came back out.

"I apologize for that." He said. "Crosses are a trigger for him."

"There's no need to apologize, Bucky. Can you tell me more about Steve's father?"

Bucky paused, almost afraid to answer. "He was very abusive. The things he did... no one would ever believe."

"Like what?"

Bucky turned to the others and asked, "Would you mind stepping out a moment? This is personal." They nodded, already shaken, and exited the church. Bucky turned back to the doctor.

"He had a Judas Cradle- it was a four legged stool with a pyramid on top of it. He suspended Steve on ropes above it and.." He said softly, trailing off. "...He was raped through it. His father would set him on top of it and then put it inside. He could cause more or less pain whenever he wanted with a simple change of position." The Doctor sucked in a breath.

"Where were you during all this?" He asked quietly.

"I watched. We all did."

"And what about his mother?"

"His mother worked all day while his father was home. She got home very late at night and there was very little light in the house. She could never see him during the day and never knew what her husband was doing."

Doctor Holden exhaled. It was good to know that his Mother was innocent.

"Is there anything else you wish to tell me now?" He asked quietly.

"There is still more, but the others will tell you. I've already said far too much for someone who is simply a visitor to the family. I don't want to be in bad taste." He said.

The doctor nodded. Simply put, the conversation was over.

Bucky stood up. "Thank you for helping Christian. He needed someone to lean on." He said, smiling.

"It was my pleasure." Said the doctor, standing and heading out the door.

"We will see you in two days." Bucky called.

"I'll see you all then." Said the Doctor before making a hasty retreat back to his office. He needed to be somewhere familiar and comforting. He went and poured himself a cup of tea as he mused over some of the discoveries he'd found today. He had been certain from the start that abuse was at the root of Steve's decent into multiple selves, but he was quickly finding that to be just the tip of the iceberg. There was still much that he didn't know or even understand, but he knew he had to find out.

It was the only way to make Steve whole again.


	5. Culminating

**A/N: Wow! Thank you all for all the favorites and Story follows! I was very surprised that the story has been so well received! Thank you all for your support, and I hope this chapter exceeds your expectations! Please Review!**

As the Avengers headed back to Stark Tower, they felt ill at ease. If finding out the disease of their leader wasn't bad enough, hearing Christian's testimony was nerveracking. Hearing the torment that the boy went through made them all a little more appreciative of their upbringings. Doctor Holden and Bucky hadn't known that JARVIS tapped into the church microphones that hung from the ceiling. They knew about the Judas Cradle- and they really wished they didn't. They got in the elevator and were silent as it swiftly escorted them to the top floor and they sat down at the dining room table.

"What do we do?" Asked Clint.

Everyone was quiet.

"We can't pretend that everything is normal." Said Natasha.

"We have to, though. Steve doesn't know and we have to keep quiet until he does." Bruce stated.

"Don't get all righteous on us, Bruce. That's still Steve's job." Tony pontificated.

"Steve isn't here," Bruce countered quickly, "That's the point."

"We need a plan." Said Natasha, in an all-business tone.

"We must help in Captain Rogers time of need." Said Thor. The statement centered them all again.

"How can we do that?" Asked Tony.

"We make sure he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else." Said Bruce. "It's our job to protect people- that includes each other."

"We need to keep an eye on him." Clint added.

"JARVIS will handle that. There are trackers in all of Steve's things." Said Tony.

"You're tracking him?" Natasha asked.

"SHIELD isn't the only one keeping an eye the Avengers." Came the simple reply. Natasha rolled her eyes, but continued on.

"Are we all agreed?" She asked. They all nodded.

As the next few days passed, the Avengers kept their eyes on Steve as promised. They made sure someone was with him at all times. The only exception was when he was in a session with Doctor Holden. They kept someone outside the office in case things got hairy.

Meanwhile, Doctor Holden was spending his time trying to pinpoint what caused Steve to dissociate in the firstplace. Of the thirteen selves, only four had come out in analysis: Bucky, Sam, Christian and Sarah. He knew there were others, guarding and harboring the secrets and memories that Steve himself couldn't bear. So, one day, he asked Bucky to tell him more about the selves he hadn't met yet.

Bucky was quiet a moment, and then spoke. "I have told you a bit about Matthew. He's counterpart to Sam in a way- What makes Sam angry makes Matthew afraid. There is Richie- Who is twenty has a volatile temper and is very much a womanizer. Robert is a fourty year old World War Two Veteran with severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Mark is a twenty-some clean and organized man to the point of obsession, and is a devout Catholic. He also takes on self-assertiveness. Andrew is an incredibly depressed sixteen year old boy. Little Luke is six years old and bears all of Steve's previous health issues. Garrett is an incredibly listless and suicidal young man, and Caden represents the whole of Steve's sexuality."

Doctor Holden wrote as fast as he could, making note of names and purposes as Bucky continued, saying, "You'll meet them all eventually. Sam and myself are out the most often, but the others do come out when needed."

"Is there anyone who could tell me more about Steve's father?"

Bucky hesitated with a disturbingly serious look. "All of them know different things, but Luke could probably tell you more than the others. I'm not sure if he wants to meet you yet..."

"Why is that?" He asked.

"Because, besides taking on poor health, he also took on a lot of torment and teasing for it. He's very introverted."

"Please, may I speak with him?"

Bucky sighed in resignation before shutting his eyes. When they opened, they shone with innocence and the distinct mark of hurt. What was once Bucky's very erect posture became hunched in and weak looking. There was a fit of coughing before the boy quieted.

"Hello." The doctor said with great care.

"Hello." Luke said. His voice very much resembled a dying child, and the thought disturbed the doctor more than he wanted to admit.

"My name is Doctor Holden. It's very nice to meet you, Luke."

Luke nodded, looking terribly exhausted.

"Luke, are you related to Steve at all?" The doctor began. Luke visibly stiffened before nodding.

"How are you related?"

"We have the same father." Said the boy, clearly nervous.

"Is there something about your father that worries you? You seem very worried. Did he do or say something to frighten you?"

"He won't know about this will he? I don't want to get in trouble for saying something dishonorable." Said the child, rubbing his arm and coughing again.

"Not at all. You're entirely safe here, Luke." The Doctor replied. Luke nodded, looking away.

"He gave us pills." He said. "Pills we didn't need because we weren't sick. We were told we were, but we really weren't." The doctor felt extremely disturbed as he wrote "Munchausen Syndrome" on the paper.

"Is there anything else?" Asked the Doctor, incredibly worried about what he'd find.

Luke was shaking as he said, "Water."

The doctor froze, knowing that Captain America had been found in the ice. He hesitantly continued, "What about water?"

"He made us drink water until we threw up. He... Held us under... f-for..."

But suddenly Luke was gone and Christian was there in his place, crying.

"I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry." The boy apologized over and over again.

"What do you see, Christian? You can remember, I'm here with you."

"H-He..."

_Steve was laying sick in bed, suffering from Scarlet Fever. It was a Sunday- A day reserved for God. He was four years old, and suffering feverish delirium. Joseph opened the door, already dressed in a suit. _

_"It's time for Mass, Steven. Get dressed."_

_Momma had been called in early that morning to help a sick patient, so Daddy was taking care of him today. Momma had told him early that morning that he needed to stay in bed and that they would have mass at home today so he could rest. _

_"Momma said to stay in bed." He said, coughing._

_"Well, Jesus can't heal you from your bed. Let's go. You have to go to church."_

_"Why?" He asked, confused._

_Joseph's face contorted into one of rage. "You dare question the commandment of the Lord?"_

_Steve's eyes widened as he recognized the tone of his Father's voice. Instantly, Christian and Luke took his place._

_"Daddy, I-"_

_"Filthy heathen child! Why was I so cursed?!" He shrieked with deranged eyes. "We must exorcize that filthy unclean spirit from you!" Joseph picked up the shivering child and thrust the bathroom door open, starting to fill the bathtub with scalding hot water. He left the naked child to sit on the cold tile while he got the Aspergillum he kept in his room. He blessed the water and sprinkled it on him, saying, "Devil child, Devil child!" before turning off the bathtub and sticking the boy in the boiling hot water. Christian shrieked and cried as his father pushed him under the water by the shoulders and held him down. He struggled, flailing violently before unconsciousness took him and he was still. Joseph swept him from the water, performed CPR and got the boy breathing, and then dressed him for church. The burns from the water were invisible from his __rash and the blisters hidden with the small bumps that lined his skin. When Steve came to, he was back in bed, like nothing ever happened._

Christian wept quietly on the couch as the doctor listened in horror. He put a comforting arm around the boy and held him. Christian leaned into him. Doctor Holden was certain that these things, and most likely others, culminated into Steve's descent into multiple selves. He knew his father had to be a root of it, but he knew he didn't have the whole picture yet. For that, he'd have to dig deeper.

The horrifying prospect loomed in his mind as he wondered how much deeper he'd have to dig, and if he really wanted to find what was at the bottom.

**Please Review!**


	6. Flashback

**A/N: So sorry for the late chapter, dear readers! Enjoy!**

The Avengers were sitting in Stark Tower's spacious living room when Steve came through the door. They all immediately stiffened, not knowing for sure just who it was that was coming into the tower.

"Hey." Greeted Clint.

"Hey." It was Steve. They all exhaled and relaxed.

"Come sit with us," offered Bruce, "We're watching a movie."

Steve politely took his seat. "What movie is it?" He asked.

"It's a British movie called 'Keeping Mum'. It's entertaining." Said Natasha. Steve shrugged and began watching as the others looked at each other in silent worry. How Steve was so calm after losing so much time, they did not know, nor understand. Tension hung in the air with a sense of foreboding. What would happen next? Or perhaps who would happen next would be more accurate to the situation. They watched the movie in silence, until, suddenly, the ending credits rolled across the screen. Steve was still himself, which he considered a huge accomplishment. He was getting up when he heard gunfire on the news, and then suddenly he was gone. His eyes shut, and he went silently to his room. While this wasn't unnoticed by the Avengers, the lack of screaming prevented them from worrying too much. In his room, he was changing into a worn out shirt, Scraped up jeans, and combat boots. He put large, rimless glasses on, and grabbed a cigarette from the stash under the bed that Steve didn't know about. He grabbed the lighter he hid in a drawer in the bathroom and lit the cigarette, blowing smoke as he went back out into the living room. Not knowing what they were dealing with, They were quiet as whomever it was grabbed a beer from the fridge. He turned around and looked at them with a somewhat sadistic smirk.

"What?" The voice was deep, masculine, and had a hint of a southern accent.

"We haven't met you yet." Said Natasha, stepping forward with arms crossed over her chest. He smirked.

"Well fine. I'm Robert, but y'all can call me Bobby."

"Bobby?" Smirked Tony.

"I was 'Big Balls Bobby' in the war." He said, taking another puff of the cigarette. He looked at Tony with stone cold eyes and a challenge. "You wanna find out why I got the nickname, Metal Man? Take off the suit, try to take me down and you'll find out." He said, taking a gulp of his beer. Tony put his hands up in mock surrender.

"So, why are you here, Bobby?" Asked Bruce.

"Steve here can't handle rapid fire gunshots. They get him too riled up over the war. That's why I'm here. I took on his battles, and fired that gun. I led the raids on those Nazi shits and I took on the war instead, cause he was too pussy to tackle it on his own." He finished the beer in momentary quiet, and looked at Tony.

"You got any Jack Daniels, pretty boy?"

Tony raised his eyebrows and frowned at the nickname before handing him the bottle of Jack Daniels he kept on a nearby cart.

Bobby took a swig of it and inhaled the cigarette.

He was quiet for just a moment as he sat down in a nearby easy chair and then started talking.

"It was 1945 in Munich. The Third Reich was on the rise and it was up to us Americans to stop 'em. I was out by the warehouse with my troops. I snuck 'em inside and went to get Bucky out. He was still a POW then. I beat the shit outta those Nazis, but it was nothin' compared to Schmidt." Bobby took a deep breath, trying to calm himself after the memory of Schmidt entered his mind. "He pulled off that mask, and it was a whole different ball game." He started moving his hands nervously. "The fucker blew up the bridge. It was just Bucky and me. I made sure he got across. I could see the face of Red Skull in the flames when the explosion hit. I knew it was life or death. I was the only one. I jumped and made it across. I fucked him up when we fought the last time. I knew it was gonna be hell tryin' to get him, but he fell outta that plane, and I went under that ice. For my sins, I was left alive. They all say I was lucky to get a second chance... Was I?"

He took a large swallow of the whiskey, feeling the burn it sent down his throat as he went into the gym with the most self control he could muster, and let out his rage on six punching bags. The other Avengers were still in shock from his story when they heard the chain holding the punching bag snap and crash to the floor. They rushed in, prepared to take him down if need be. Bobby was above it, breathing heavily, but not hallucinating or hearing things anymore. He calmed quickly and got his cigarette, left on an ash tray on the living room table, and took a deep inhale. It was calming. No one said a word as he collected his thoughts.

"You were very brave." Clint offered. Bobby scoffed.

"No shit, Sherlock. You gotta have balls out there. It ain't just you there, you know? It's you and your unit. You put your lives in each other's hands, and if one of you goes down, you put in twice the fight. Your gun's your best friend when you don't know your enemy. You gotta do whatever it takes to keep yourself and your unit safe. It's not just another training exercise. You're trapped under fire with men depending on you to lead them out. They got kids, wives, gals, parents back home, and you're carryin' their hope of their safe return on your shoulders. Sometimes it gets tough and you think it'll crush you, but you carry it on your back like hay. Even if the last straw makes your back break, you carry on. It's up to you to be strong, brave, courageous, whatever the hell you call it, because you gotta keep a smile on your face in the worst, cause those soldiers put their trust in you, and you can't let them down."

Bobby crushed out the cigarette in the ash tray and took one last swig of whiskey before his eyes shut, and Steve returned. They saw brief panic flash in his eyes, then calm.

"What am I doing here?" Steve asked, disoriented.

"You worked out a little too hard." Natasha lied quickly, "You crashed, so we moved you to the couch."

Steve frowned when he saw the glasses on his nose.

"Why am I wearing these?" He asked.

"You know Tony and his juvenile pranks." Said Bruce.

Steve shot a glare at Tony before shrugging.

"Thanks for helping me out." He said, standing and heading to his room to change clothes.

The words plunged knives into their hearts. They only wished they could help Steve properly, but for now they would settle for being his protectors from the other personalities, and perhaps, more importantly, from the truth.


	7. Revealed

**A/N: I am so sorry for the lack of updates, guys! I had five papers due and three exams this week, so my schedule has been jam-packed! In any event, I hope you all like this chapter!**

As Steve changed, he wondered what happened to him. He didn't remember working out, but perhaps that was the blackout talking. He put his shirt on and tried to push the thoughts aside. His team wouldn't lie to him. He changed into a pair of cargo pants and went back out to take a walk around the block, completely oblivious to the fact that his team had called his psychiatrist while he'd changed.

Their concern escalated with the arrival of Bobby, and they'd called Dr. Holden from the kitchen. After explaining the situation and questioning the next step they needed to take, there had been a distinct pause on the other line. The doctor said that he would call Steve in for an emergency session.

The truth would have to come out.

The cell phone in Steve's pocket rang and he fumbled to get it out. It had taken him a long time to get used to the device, and even longer to understand how to work it. Tony had tried several times to explain it to him, but each time he'd understood less and less. Tony had given him an iPhone, and although he liked it alright as a phone, he didn't understand all of the extra functions it held, and it frustrated him. Finally, after much pestering, Tony had caved and bought him a simple flip phone with a camera. He pulled the sleek little black gadget out and flipped it open, pushing the small green phone symbol that allowed him to take the call.

"Hello?" He said, seeing the blocked number on the small screen.

"Steve? This is Doctor Holden. I wanted to know if you were free for a session today?"

Unbeknownst to the doctor, Steve's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Although he was still unaccustomed to this time period, he knew that no matter what year it was, dDoctor's never called without reason. He knew something _had _to be wrong.

"Yes, I'm free. When do you want me there?"

"As soon as you can get here."

Steve flipped the phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket as he ran back to get on his motorcycle.

When he arrived, the Doctor's door somehow seemed to loom over him. He hadn't felt so small since before he'd been injected with the serum. A jolt of fear rushed through him, and with great hesitancy, he opened the door.

Doctor Holden had been waiting for him in his usual spot.

"Steven," He said, smiling, but his tone was grave. "Please, take a seat."

Nervously, Steve sat down.

After a short pause, the Doctor asked, "What do you think you do during your blank spells?"

Steve was surprised at the simplicity of the question. "I don't do anything."

The Doctor paused. "Are you sure?" He asked.

Of course he wasn't, not now that he'd said that. But still mustered the strength to sound confident when he said "Yes."

The Doctor paused, uncertain of how to continue. Finally, he found the words.

"Steve," he said, quietly. "What if I told you there was a diagnosis for your blackouts?"

Steve, who had been studying the green wall, perked up and shifted all his attention to the Doctor. "There's a diagnosis?" He asked, quietly.

"Yes." He said, cautiously, "But I don't know how you'd react to it."

A dozen emotions flew by him at one hundred miles an hour: Shock, happiness, fear, and disbelief mingled together to create a whirlpool of Feeling. For a moment, he was silent, trying to figure out if he really wanted to know about this or not.

"There's a name for this?" He asked, almost too softly to hear.

"Yes, there is." Replied the Doctor almost as quietly.

"And you'll be honest with me? I don't want it sugar-coated."

"I can assure you that you have my word as a professional and as a friend that I'll be truthful with you."

Steve paused only a moment more before saying, "I'm ready."

"Steven, you have Dissociative Identity Disorder."

Steve's mind was racing at a million miles per hour, trying to understand what the words meant, but he couldn't seem to understand them. Finally, helplessly, with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, he asked more quietly than ever before, "What does that mean?"

The Doctor was silent for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain this to his patient. "It was classified as Multiple Personality Disorder during your lifetime."

Steve's mouth dropped open in shock and clear fear was etched into his eyes. He understood that phrase with perfect clarity. "W-What?" He stammered in disbelief.

"When you have these... Fugues, someone else comes in and takes your place. They're different levels of consciousness."

"I don't... I can't..." And suddenly his face crumpled and he began to cry, somewhat like Christian did, but the voice was more similar to Sam's. To the best of the Doctor's knowledge, he thought he was meeting Matthew. He pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in them.

"Hello there." Said the Doctor, gently. The boy's head shot up and looked straight at the Doctor in terror. Weather it was terror over the situation or over something else, the Doctor didn't know. He looked at the child's face, which was covered in tears and was clearly not Steve. "May I know your name?"

The boy stared at him with untrusting and fearful eyes. "M-Me?"

The Doctor nodded. "You. I spoke with Sam the other day." He said, hoping to calm the child down.

"Y-You talked to S-Sam?" He asked. When the Doctor nodded, he visibly relaxed a bit. "I'm M-Matthew."

"It's very nice to meet you, Matthew." The boy nodded weakly. The Doctor looked at him with silent scrutiny. "Can you tell me what's gotten you so upset?"

Matthew was silent for a moment before he spoke. "Change."

Doctor Holden raised an eyebrow. "What about change?"

"Steve is afraid of change. I am too."

"Why is Steve afraid of change?"

"Because every time change came, he got hurt."

"And what about you? Why does change scare you?"

"Because all the bad things started with change." Matthew's lip quivered again, and he started to cry again. The Doctor offered him a tissue, and he wiped his eyes.

"Do you want to talk about the bad things?" Asked the Doctor. He shook his head vigorously.

"I don't wanna talk." He said. Then, ever so quietly, added, "I want my Momma. I wanna go home." He said as the tears rolled down his cheeks. The a Doctor was incredibly quiet when suddenly the sad, lonely child was replaced with a fierce glare that had to belong to an adult.

"That is quite enough." Snapped an angry voice. Doctor Holden looked up in surprise. "We have a system, Doctor. It is our job to protect Steven from his past and carry that load. It is our job to protect him and everyone in here from exposure, and you have exposed us. He isn't ready to know- and now Matthew is terrified. Let me be clear: you have no place in that system, Doctor Holden. You're in way over your head here with your psychological Devil's work. You have no idea what you're dealing with." He finished gravely.

Doctor Holden already deduced that he was dealing with Mark, and responded accordingly: "I'm quite certain I do. Should you choose to come back to my office of "Devil's work", my door will be open to you. Have a wonderful day, and when you see Steve, tell him I am looking forward to seeing him again."

Fuming, Mark stormed out of the office and slammed the door behind him.


	8. Observant

Unbeknownst to Steve and Doctor Holden, Tony had asked JARVIS to hack into the SHIELD security system and all the Avengers had watched Steve as he was confronted with the face of his illness. They saw Matthew emerge for the first time, and saw Mark lash out at the Doctor. At Mark's behavior, they were all stunned. Steve nor any of the others seemed the type for this kind of a stunt, and yet it seemed befitting. They were watching the end of the film when Mark walked in.

They shut off the camera quickly and greeted him, but his attention was turned toward the stack of papers on the table that were messily piled up. He shuttered in disgust and went right about fixing it before looking at the others. They stared quietly at him, and for a moment there was a tense silence.

"Hello." The voice was deep and rich, with a charm that couldn't quite be placed. The words flowed in perfect cadence and came out smooth.

"Hello." Said Clint.

"Shall I assume you know who I am? Trying to hide that video feed certainly didn't work for you." They looked at each other, almost embarrassed at being caught.

"We do." Tony affirmed without the slightest bit of remorse. Mark's eyes narrowed a fraction. He hated Tony's type- Men who grew up with everything being handed to them on a silver platter, and never caring about how they acted. Yes, thought Mark, the Lord was saving a special place in Hell for Tony Stark. Of course he never said this aloud- It would have been disrespectful, and God did not approve of that, but he kept it in his thoughts. He plastered a smile on his face that was as fake as a rubber mask.

"Well then, I suppose introductions would be a useless formality at this point." He looked at the clock, which read 5:10. "If you'll please excuse me," He said, turning for Steve's bedroom, "I'm going to get dressed for evening mass." He walked out without saying another word to them. As soon as Mark had vanished from sight, the Avengers shared exasperated looks.

"Asshole." Said Tony. Natasha only glared mildly at him for the language, but she too shared the sentiment, so she couldn't fault him completely. Bruce sighed and sat on the living room sofa, tired and overwhelmed. Thor joined him, not grasping the situation, but understanding enough to know that he did not like this midguardian one bit. Clint just shrugged it off and went to the fridge to grab a beer. Mark came down in a black suit and tie, not bothering to say goodbye to the people who he clearly disliked so much. He hopped on Steve's motorcycle (oh what a filthy thing that was! Someday he would exchange it for a nice Cadillac.) and headed to the small Catholic church near the outskirts of the city.

The others watched him leave with distaste, but it was Bruce who spoke up.

"We have to follow him."

"Why should we? He doesn't want us to interrupt his sacred mass." Said Tony, putting air quotes around "Sacred"

"Because what if he switches back? Or into one of the younger boys? Bucky said that crosses were a trigger for Christian." Bruce counted.

"He's right." Said Natasha, interrupting their little dispute. "Let's go."

Tony, using the technology he used to track all of the Avengers, tracked Steve's cell phone to the tiny Catholic church on the outskirts of the city. The Steeple loomed in the distance when the church was seemingly far away, and a large stained glass window was visible near the top. They heard a pipe organ playing as they entered the parking lot, and heard a congregation rise to their feet to sing the opening hymn. The words echoed in the narthex of the church as they heard voices sing:

"_All things bright and beautiful_

_All creatures great and small_

_All things wise and wonderful_

_The lord God made them all..."_

They made their way into the church, unease in their stomachs as they sat in the back pew. They watched the processional walk down the aisle, and watched Steve for any signs of switching. He was fine the entire service. When Mark exited the church, his eyes shut and Steve was back in control. He looked at his surroundings, scared that he didn't recognize them. It wasn't until he saw the sign for a Catholic church and his friends coming up to meet him that he relaxed.

"Hey." He said quietly.

"Are you alright, Steve?" Asked Natasha.

"I'm fine." He said, sounding fake even to himself. "What are you all doing here?" He asked, trying to shift the subject from himself.

"We followed you here." Said Tony. Steve's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"How?"

"Just because I let you have an older phone doesn't mean I can't find you." Tony replied with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Did you need me for something?"

"No, we were just checking on you." Said Bruce, kindness shining in his eyes.

"But why would-" Suddenly, it hit him like a ton of bricks. They _knew._ They'd known all along and they hadn't told him. Betrayal and anguish ripped through him at a speed that made him dizzy.

"You knew about this?" His voice was calculated, calm. Too calm.

"We did." Said Natasha, deciding that honesty would be the best route.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice broke on the last word and he inwardly cursed himself for being so weak.

"It wasn't our place to tell you. We were only supposed to protect you." She said, easily. Somehow this made him angrier, and he blacked out into Sam.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He shrieked. Anger made him tense and quake with rage that threatened to boil over. He stomped his foot twice before looking at them with a fierce glare and running the other way. The others tried to close in on him, but he was going too fast.

With a sense of where the boy would end up, they called Doctor Holden and told him to expect a very angry Sam in his office in half an hour.


	9. Furious

Sam stormed into the office and slammed the door behind him. Doctor Holden was waiting for him in his usual seat.

"Hello, Sam." He greeted, casually.

Sam didn't respond to his greeting and went straight for the paper and crayons on the shelf in the back of the room. He laid down on his stomach and began to scribble furiously in blue- the color that expressed his anger.

"Why are you angry, Sam?" He asked.

"'Cause." He said, clearly furious.

"Because why?" The Doctor prodded.

"'Cause Steve's mad that they knew we were here and didn't tell him nothin' about us."

"And why are you mad?"

"'Cause I don't like them."

"Why don't you like them?"

"'Cause I don't like the people."

"Which people, Sam?"

"The people. The people, the angry people like Steve's father."

"Did you do something to make them angry?"

"No." More furious scribbling.

"Then why-"

"Nobody likes me!" He said, angrily throwing the crayon to the ground. "Nobody cares!" Sam stomped to the middle of the room with the pout that could only have belonged to a five year old. He stomped his foot angrily twice before he saw the window.

"I'm gonna break the glass." He started running toward it. Doctor Holden was quick.

"You don't need to break the glass, Sam."

"Then I'll break a pot or a vase or Steve's Daddy's hooch- Something, anything. I have to get out!" He shrieked and pounded on the window before Doctor Holden stopped him.

"Sam," He asked, "Why do you break things?"

"'Cause." He said, avoiding the question.

"Why, Sam?" The Doctor said a little more firmly.

"'Cause Steve's Daddy broke his arm and his Momma's china plates. So I break his stuff to get back at him."

"Why do you have to be angry? Steve's father isn't yours, correct?"

Sam nodded vigorously.

"So why are you angry? Why can't you let Steve be angry?"

"It's a sin." He said, firmly.

The Doctor processed the statement, and then remembered the extreme Catholic outlook of the household.

"Sam," The Doctor said quietly, "Does Steve think he can't be angry because if he did, he wouldn't be honoring his parents?"

Sam nodded.

"What about your Mother? Were you ever angry at your Mother?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"'Cause she stayed there. With him. And cause Steve and I couldn't leave there without her. We couldn't leave Momma behind."

The Doctor wrote his notes in fast, choppy motions, trying to get everything down. Clearly the absence of a Mother was important to Sam and Steve, but he needed to talk to someone closer to her.

"Sam," The Doctor asked, quietly, "May I speak with Matthew?"

Sam looked at him for a moment, before nodding. Matthew emerged, looking frail and scared as ever.

"Hello, Matthew."

"Hi." The boy said, shyly.

"I wanted to ask you something. Is that alright?"

Matthew looked unsure, but nodded.

"Can you tell me about your Mother?"

At the word "Mother" the boy's eyes instantly lit up and a small smile graced his lips.

"Momma's real pretty. She always says its important to look sharp. She gives lots of hugs and kisses, and always tucks us into bed every night and reads us stories. She always prays with us before bed, and cooks real good. She gave up some of her food so we could have more when things got bad. She never stopped smiling, even when Steve's Daddy hit her."

"So Steve's Daddy isn't your Daddy?" Matthew shook his head, and his face screwed up as he tried not to cry.

"Alright. That's alright. I just wanted to know." He said, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. He decided a shift in the subject would be best for now.

"Do you all do things together?" He asked.

"What's the point?" Said a new voice. It was sullen and moody, and the eyes that had once held childhood innocence now took on a downcast glow.

"I don't believe I've met you yet." Said the Doctor.

"I'm Anthony."

"What kinds of things do you like to do, Anthony?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't matter. I mean nothing."

"That's not true." The Doctor countered.

"Why? Because you've known me two seconds you can tell that I've got a heart of gold and really care about Steve. You can spin that crap with Christian, Sam, and Matthew, but not with me. I've seen enough of the world and how it works to know that nobody has a heart of gold anymore- If anything, there's a block of ice in there, because nobody cares- not really. This world wasn't made for people like me."

"And who are people like you?"

"The people who are smart enough to know the truth. The ones who know that justice is all a lie, and that it's rigged for the smart, rich people like Stark who play politics for fun. I'm the kind of man the government hates, because I know the truth behind all their lies and dirty little secrets. I see what's behind the pretty portrait of a happy family, and I see past the little charade that everything in the country is fine. Since I'm underage, I can't say anything. They always step on the little guys like me."

After a moment, the Doctor responded.

"You know, Anthony, Steve made quite a career out of being the little guy." Anthony looked at him, and he took it as a sign to continue, "Doctor Eskrine made an entire career over making the little guy into a hero. Sometimes it's not that you're the little guy, it's that you're afraid of change. If you find the courage to speak up, you might be able to change more than you think."

For the first time since meeting Bucky, one of the alters smiled at him.


	10. Talk

**Sorry for the short chapter, all! College is nuts... In any event, I hope you like this little chapter!**

The first day after was the worst.

When Steve was himself, he isolated himself in the gym or his room. If someone tried to talk to him, Sam would immediately emerge and tell them off. So they left him to his thoughts.

The day after, he was still isolated, but Sam didn't come out.

The day after that, he went out to sit with everyone, but didn't speak.

Finally, on the fourth day, Steve began speaking again.

"Hey." He said that morning. They all looked up in surprise. After a week of silence, Steve was talking to them again.

"Hi." Said Natasha, brushing the silence off as if it were dust.

"Oh, so now you're talking to us again?" Said Tony with his usual note of sarcasm. He was not going to let this silence be unnoticed.

"Just like you didn't talk to me when I needed help?" Steve countered. Then, with a sigh, he felt resigned. "I didn't come to fight with you all. I came to talk."

Tony took a seat at the kitchen table. "Okay. Let's talk."

They all gathered around the table and sat down. Steve was the first to speak.

"I wanted to apologize for getting so angry the other day. I was irrational about the whole situation and I was feeling overwhelmed. I should have realized you were only doing what you did to protect me. You all don't deserve that." He said solemnly, looking at each of them during the small speech.

"Don't put the blame all on yourself, Steve. We're just as guilty as you are for not saying anything when we first found out," Said Bruce. "You deserved the truth from the start."

"It's my fault for not telling you all about this. The blackouts stopped and I thought..." He trailed off.

"You didn't think it would happen again." Finished Clint.

Steve nodded, looking morose. "It was stupid and wrong, and I'm sorry. And I can't thank you all enough for protecting me from myself."

"You would have done this for us, and twice more if we would allow it." Said Thor, beaming.

At the Asguardian's response, Steve smiled and looked at the table. He looked around the table again, looking at everyone's faces, before asking, "Can you forgive me?"

"Steve," Natasha interrupted, "There's nothing to forgive."

He smiled at her.

"Come on, even tree bark isn't this sappy." Remarked Tony.

"Shut it, Stark." Natasha snapped. Tony would have made a snappy remark back, and was about to when he remembered that Black Widow could kill him with any of the objects on the table, so he held his tongue.

"The question here is if you can forgive us for being assholes by not saying anything." Clint stated.

Steve smirked. "Always."

"That's it," Said Tony, getting up. "I'm getting a drink. That's nacho level cheesiness right there and I don't want a part in it." He turned to walk to the built in bar, before there was a voice saying,

"Hey Tony." Rolling his eyes, Tony looked over his shoulder.

"Catch." Said Steve, throwing him a glass.

Tony smirked at him just a bit, and Steve knew whatever bad blood there was had been expelled from their relationship.

Steve sat there a moment, contemplating his team. He was incredibly lucky, he realized. He had been blessed with the good fortune of finding good people in this time period that gave him a sense of stability, which he hadn't had since he'd first entered basic training. He didn't realize how much he needed that now.

"Thank you." He said. They all looked at him.

"For what?" Asked Clint.

"For being there." He said. "It's something stable in my life. I need that."

Natasha half-smirked at him. Thor looked slightly confused, but pleased. Bruce's eyes held mirth, and Clint looked at him with understanding.

He paused, and then asked, "What do you all know about them?"

The others looked at each other warily.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Asked Bruce.

Steve nodded. "As I'll ever be."

Bruce held his gaze for a few moments longer, and saw the raw determination to get well in Steve's eyes. It was one he had seen countless times on the faces of children in Africa and Portugal, in the countries that were so poor they couldn't afford medicine. It was on sheer willpower that they kept going, and Bruce could see that glint in Steve's eyes. Nothing would stop him from getting his memories back and becoming whole again.

Bruce hesitated only a moment longer before launching into a description of Sam.

**Please Review! I love reading your thoughts!**


	11. Learning

**A/N: So sorry for the wait, friends! My classes are on homework overload for midterms and one-shot's keep popping into my head. But I haven't forgotten this story, I promise! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Slowly but surely, he learned about all of them. He learned about Sam's childish anger and Mark's obsessive religious views. He learned of Christian's fear of crosses (When he'd asked why Christian was afraid of them, no one seemed able to tell him- it was odd indeed.) and Bobby's abrasive and ogre-like mannerisms. When he'd heard of Bucky, he physically flinched. It hurt- more than he liked to admit. Bucky's death should have been old news to him, but the hurt was still fresh. He hadn't had time to grieve the loss of his best friend. Although, in a strange way, he was glad. He had subconsciously remembered his best friend and honored him in the way of him being the keeper of his memories. When they'd told him of their brief encounter with Sarah, it made him choked up.

When his Momma had died, he'd been grief-stricken. She was the one who had taken care of him when he was sick (Which had been all too often), had gone to church with him, taught him his morals, and made his food. She stitched up his clothes when they were tattered and worn (for they couldn't afford new ones on Momma's limited budget) and had healed him when he had been beaten up. She had been his rock and suddenly she was gone. He couldn't believe that somewhere in his subconscious she was still there. Although part of him was a little disgusted that there was a female inside of him, the other part of him was happy that somewhere she was there. He couldn't remember her funeral at all. He supposed someone must have come out and taken his place, but he couldn't be sure of who. In that respect, having multiple selves was awful. What should have been a moment of closure for him was ripped away, and he didn't know how to get it back.

When he'd gone into Doctor Holden's office the next day, he felt like a stranger. He didn't look in the mirror and see himself. He saw thirteen different faces all leeching off of himself. He wasn't a person- He was a host. The others were parasites that were draining his life away. It was like the ice all over again, although in a way this was worse, because this time he was _awake _when time was being snatched away from him. When he'd woken up in that hospital bed only to later be told that seventy years had gone by in an instant, he thought it had been the blackouts- not being frozen in ice. The rifts in his memory prevented him from having any real idea of how much time had been stolen, and what he had missed. It was terrifying. It was the sensation of everything he knew and cherished being sent through a mental trap door- there seemed to be no escape. As he opened the familiar door, he wondered how much he'd really missed out on.

The Doctor greeted him as usual, and for that Steve was glad. the normality of niceties like that were a blessing he'd taken for granted.

"How do you feel?" Asked the Doctor.

Steve blinked.

It was a simple statement, he knew. It was a statement that had several set answers- "Okay", "I'm Fine", "Tired", and "Alright" among them. It should have been an easy question. It _should _have been. But it wasn't. The "you" in the sentence implied that it was directed at him, but it didn't feel that way. It felt like it was supposed to be directed toward one of the others. The word "feel" was such a small word, but meant so much. Feel? Did he even know how to feel things anymore? And if he did, were the feelings his, or one of the others being projected on him? Were even his feelings under the dictation of these foreigners that lived inside his body? The only word he could think of was the one that escaped his lips.

"Trapped."

That word, too held more meaning than it seemed. He felt trapped inside his body. He felt trapped in his emotions. He felt trapped in this future where everything seemed so wrong. He was trapped with these other people in his body. He was trapped inside his own mind.

The Doctor's response surprised him.

"That's to be expected."

Steve wanted to quirk an eyebrow or say something witty, but instead he just nodded, rubbing his thighs. After a short silence, the Doctor asked him another question.

"Now that you know about them, and your team has informed you about them, do you feel you're connected to any of them?"

He paused.

"I feel like their all aliens who have taken over my body and are draining my life away. The only connection there is is that Bucky is named after my best friend, and Sarah is named after my Mother. I don't want to feel connected to them. I want my life back."

The doctor scribbled onto his notepad.

"Your life was never taken from you."

"How can you say that?" He asked, shocked and mildly angry.

"Because, they're just taking on what you can't carry." The doctor replied, sanguinely.

"What can't I carry?" He asked. The doctor paused. He wasn't ready to know about that yet.

"It's up to them to tell you." He said.

"Then why are they there?"

"Because," The Doctor began, "It was the only way a little boy knew how to defend himself- by pretending to be someone else."

Steve processed the statement. "Defend myself from what?"

The Doctor hesitated, but said, "Sickness, neglect... and abuse."

Steve would have had a coronary right then if his health had been what it once was. He tried to think of something to say, but all that would come out of his mouth was a flabbergasted "What?"

The Doctor nodded solemnly.

"That's crazy." He said in disbelief.

"Maybe it's not. Are all your memories with your family happy ones?"

Steve thought about it. "Mostly."

"Did you ever consider that they were taking the bad?"

"But why? I mean, sure, my health was bad and I understand that, but my house was happy and my parents were wonderful-"

"Your Mother was wonderful. That's why you remember her. Do you remember your father at all?"

Steve hesitated. "A little."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Because he didn't talk to me much." The doctor sighed. It was best to just come out with it.

"Your father abused you and your Mother wasn't there to stop it."

"That's because of me." He said quickly.

"No Steve, it's because of him. What choice did you have? Your mother wasn't there to stop it and you were home sick with your father all of the time. You don't think there's some kind of connection there?"

Steve's breath hitched and he realized the Doctor was right. There was panic just below the surface of his consciousness, but he tamped it down. There was only a numbing sense of simultaneous shock and relief that mingled uneasily. Shock for the revelation of his Father's abuse, and relief for finally having an answer. He sat there a moment, just processing it, before he finally whispered: "What do I do?"

The Doctor looked at him thoughtfully before answering: "You learn from it, keep going, and think of it as the first step on the road to recovery. It won't be easy, but you can do it. If anyone can do it, you can, Steve. You can be whole again. But you have to face your past before you can take on your future. You have your friends, and you have me. We'll get through this together. You aren't alone, Steve."

A solemn nod was the only response the Doctor received before Steve exited his office.

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	12. Coconsciousness

**IMPORTANT A/N: Hello dear readers! Just a small notice about the next update! Fall Break is next week and I will be away, but not to worry, I'll be back by next Thursday at the latest! Until then, Stay awesome! I love you all!**

In the face of the revelation that threatened to destroy everything he knew, Steve had walked out of Doctor Holden's office, unable to endure. Part of him wanted to blow off everything the doctor had told him as garbage. How dare he insinuate such things about his family? He had no right to say these things.

And yet...

There was another part of him that he found even more frightening. The part that thought it _did _make complete sense and that it _was_ plausible. Every aspect of the Doctor's argument had been logical, and that's what really drove it home and made it sting.

He didn't think he was ready to face his teammates just yet, so he went to the gym and took his frustration out on a punching bag, grateful no one else was there. He spent a good chunk of that time trying to drudge up any memories that he could from his childhood. He remembered Daddy laughing. Daddy had had an odd laugh to him. it was zealous and wild, with a slight note of hysteric dementedness. It was usually just after Daddy laughed that he stopped remembering, so it had to mean something- right?

Most of the memories he had were of his Momma. Daddy had died when he was eight, but he didn't remember that, either. He just remembered asking his Momma where Daddy was and seeing her uncharacteristically purse her lips and say, "To a better place." When Daddy had died, Momma had been distant for a while. She had retreated into herself, he now knew, and had not gotten out of bed for two whole weeks. Whenever he'd come up to her, she had just stroked his hair. He'd never said a word, because he could tell that she didn't want to talk- she just wanted company. It was a sense that he had developed in early childhood- he could read his Momma like no one else. During those times when she'd just wanted company, he'd climbed up onto the big bed in his parents room and snuggled into her side.

He tried to think of memories he had of both his parents. The typical memories of Sunday morning Mass came up, and he tried to think if he'd ever seen them affectionate toward each other- obviously they had been at one time, for he existed. He thought he could remember them holding hands once on the way out of church, but he couldn't remember seeing them kiss or hug or joke together. They had never shown affection to each other. Momma had been affectionate to him- she'd stroke his hair, kiss him goodnight, and hug him when he had a bad day. And Daddy... Did he remember any affection from his Daddy? He scanned his brain and found none. He couldn't ever remember a pat on the back or a hug from the side. He never remembered his Daddy taking him to a baseball game or any form of bonding between them.

_I just want you to be a good boy_

He blinked. What was that? It was his father's voice- he knew. He ignored the thought for the moment and focused on the punching bag.

"You need to slow down- you're putting too much energy into it." Said a different, unfamiliar voice.

He turned to see a man with large rimless glasses, a white tee shirt and ripped jacket in blue jeans- with his face.

Steve nearly tripped over the mat.

"Who are you?" He whispered.

"The name's Bobby- Big Balls Bobby in the war." He said in a southern accent.

Steve's mind reeled as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"What do you think, sherlock? I need the body."

"What? Why?"

"'Cause you need to get tough and you can't do that without me."

"I don't need you."

"You wanna bet?" Bobby looked at him harshly.

Steve just shook it off. "It's my body, you can't have it."

"And since when has a wimp like you ever stopped me?"

A memory flashed before Steve's eyes- a boy had punched him in the stomach on the way home from school, yelling "Wimp!" Steve had blacked out, and Bobby had taken over. Although Bobby hadn't had a specific name or set appearance, he was tough, and that was what Steve had needed. He sucked in a breath. He _remembered. _

"You- you-" the shock made the words stick in his throat.

"You bet your ass I did. Ain't nobody ever gotten away with callin' me a wimp."

Steve took off his gloves. "Can the others do this?" He'd asked.

"You're damn straight."

Steve sat on the mat thoughtfully. He could meet all of them if he wanted to- the question was was he ready for that?

Bobby sighed and sat down next to Steve, wishing he had a bottle of beer to make this a session of bullshitting instead of all the touchy-feely shit that Steve was making it.

"Look, you ain't gotta like us. Some of us don't like you, neither. But you gotta accept that we're here and we ain't goin' nowhere without you facin' your own demons. You hear me?"

Steve nodded numbly.

"Aw, Hell. Fuck this, I'm gettin' a beer." He said, taking over the body. Steve felt himself being pushed out, but instead of blacking out like he usually did, he could see everything Bobby was doing. It was strange to watch someone else in his body- it was a terrifying thought to say the least. He watched Bobby get a beer from the bar, and when he was done, watched him head back to Stark Tower.

Before Bobby could get through the door, Steve pushed his way through.

"It's my body. I'm taking control and taking back my life."

Mildly surprised and honestly impressed, Bobby nodded at him with a kind of smirk that Steve thought was supposed to be respect. In an instant, he'd vanished.

As Steve pushed the button to get to the top of Stark Tower, he contemplated how he'd stood up for himself, and realized that he was ready to get control of himself and his life.

When the doors opened, he looked at it as the doors to his future, opening wide with possibilities that were within his reach.

For the first time that day, he smiled.

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	13. Memories

**A/N: Hey everyone! I'm back from a long (And very busy) long weekend. I hope I haven't left you waiting too long! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

After his first experience of co-consciousness with Bobby, Steve had begun to remember a few things. Most of them were moments from the war- firing at enemies and making sure his team was safe, but there were a few others. They were distorted, foggy, little boy memories of Daddy telling him something and him saying no, and there was one with his Momma... something he couldn't quite remember yet, but was positively certain he needed to. The certainty of this was accented by the poignant, distinct sense of urgency that lay in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't until he was working in the kitchen one night that he'd remembered.

He'd been looking for a knife to cut his steak with when the memory flashed through him with terrifying brilliance. He'd only been two at the time, but he remembered it with awful and distinct clarity.

_Daddy was gone for once. Momma was sitting in her chair, doing her embroidery when there had been a knock at the door. He'd sat on the floor coloring with a blue crayon when Momma had got up and answered._

_He'd looked to see who it was and it was a lady he'd never seen before in a sparkly dress that sort of hung straight on her. He'd toddled over to her, wondering why she was there. She'd bent down to speak to him, and he'd been able to see down her dress. _

_Momma had looked at him, eyes big and wide in disbelief and had instantly shut the door on the lady. He looked up to see his Momma's face twisted in the most awful expression he'd ever seen, and he'd stepped back, terrified._

_"STEVEN!" She'd shrieked, and it was a sound full of rage. The color had drained from his face instantly as his Momma started raving about things he hadn't been able to understand yet- things about "just like all the rest of them" and "Lust" and ranting about the sin and evil it was. Steve had never seen his Momma so angry before- and he never would again, but he'd cowered in the corner of the kitchen, curling up and __trying to make himself _small and when Momma paused in her rant, his breath had hitched and he found himself being lifted up by the scruff of his neck. Momma was gripping him so hard that his mind had started to go fuzzy and far away. He had suddenly been flying through the air and felt himself hit the floor, scraping up his back on the floor. He'd laid there, dazed and confused until, suddenly, Momma was there with Daddy's long knife. 

_"You'll never look at that Devil's whore again!"_

_She had Daddy's big black bible in her hands. _

_"You must be cleansed in blood before your sin is forgiven!" She'd shrieked. He'd backed away in a panic, and then suddenly Bobby was there, Standing up._

_"No!" He'd said in defiance. Momma had stared at him like he had grown another head. She'd tried to grab him by the arm, but he'd gone forward and gotten the knife from her grasp. He'd stabbed it into the ground, with a shriek of "NO!" and had looked at his Momma who was looking at him again, but this time with a bit of fear. She'd struck the child across the face._

_"THERE'S NO PLACE IN HEAVEN FOR THOSE WHO SIN LIKE THAT! YOU MARK MY WORDS, WHEN THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT COMES THE DEVIL WILL HAVE YOU BRANDED AS HIS SON! I WASH MY HANDS OF IT!" She'd thrown him into his room and locked him in for almost a day and a half._

The memory had startled him into slamming into a pot, the hot contents sloshing onto him. But he didn't care. All he could feel was the shock and fear. He'd scrambled to the phone to call Doctor Holden, who'd listened very calmly to the story and had felt the words twist his insides. He'd decided that was horrific and unusual for the mother that Steve and the others had remarked about so he did a bit of digging.

It had taken all night, but he'd found it.

Sarah Rogers had been a victim of rape, and, according to the police report, it had begun with the man staring at her breasts. The man had never been caught, and the event had impregnated her with her first child, whom she'd later miscarried.

If there was anything for her to be incredibly sensitive or crazed about, this would certainly have been it.

Steve had informed him that he remembered fainting after a certain point of captivity, and never remembering what had happened. He'd remembered seeing the bruises (which were not uncommon at all for him) and asking Momma how he'd gotten them, but she had simply busied herself with her embroidery.

Doctor Holden was almost positive that the thought of her own child doing that to someone had been so traumatic and devastating for her that it had triggered a sort of mental breakdown. He wondered if the child's mother had remembered the experience at all. It would have certainly posed an interesting hypothesis for a research study.

The doctor reclined back in his chair, mind full of thoughts of Steve Rogers. The boy's case had gotten more complex and fascinating by the minute, but the doctor was sure he'd hit on the taproot of Steve's dissociation into multiple selves, it had just taken this new piece of insight to color his thoughts on the matter, and justify it further.

They would discuss it during their next meeting, and this time, he hoped, Steve would have a little more insight into what had happened to him.

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	14. Closed

**Koryandrs: Yeah, that was very intentional. You'll see why later. Despite the darkness, I hope you're still liking the story!**

**A/N: Hope you all like this chapter!**

Over the next few days, Steve had become despondent. He had hardly spoken to his friends, and avoided the kitchen at all costs. He often spent the day switching between Christian and Matthew, and had spent hours on end weeping. Steve had yet to experience co-consciousness with them, and was thankful for that. He thought they'd been grieving the loss of the mother they knew, considering how many times he'd come to with tears streaming down his face. And he had been absolutely right. The desperate wails of both of the boys echoed through Stark Tower, only silenced when Steve had gained control again. He'd made sure that when he was in control, he ate things that didn't require knives. He knew he wasn't ready for that yet.

The others had tried numerous times to talk to him about what was going on, but every time they tried, Steve had transitioned almost immediately. They couldn't take the crying anymore, so the team had elected Bruce to ask Doctor Holden to make a house call. He'd called up the doctor and very calmly explained the situation at hand. Doctor Holden, of course, had complied.

When he'd arrived at Stark Tower, Pepper Potts had greeted him at the door and directed him to the top floor. He'd thanked the woman and headed up the elevator to where his Patient was. Upon the doors opening, the Doctor was greeted with the faces of the other six Avengers and the sound of broken cries. It was Christian, the Doctor was certain. He'd gone past them and went straight to the closed door in the hall. He calmly went into the room and sat on the bed next to the child, who hadn't looked up to see who had come in. The others had gathered around the doorway, concern etched into their faces. The Doctor ignored them and rubbed Christian's back, not saying a word- not yet. The boy leaned into the familiar touch, yearning for comfort. After about ten minutes, the boy's sobbing had quieted and the Doctor had leapt at the chance to speak with him.

"Christian," He'd asked quietly, "May I speak to Steve?"

Finally, Christian looked up at him. The first thing the Doctor noticed was his face. He looked pale as death, but at the same time his face was colored with fever spots, his eyes were red and socketed from weeping, which was still continuing with horrible monotony, and he breathed in shaking breaths that made him sound like he was choking. The others were slightly terrified at the sight, having never seen the Captain, as himself or any of the others, in such bad shape.

Christian simply stared at the Doctor with fearful and sad eyes.

"Can I talk to him?" Doctor Holden tried again.

Christian shook his head, not ready to speak quite yet.

"Why not?" He asked gently. The child seemed light a frightened and helpless animal, and it made his stomach churn with the pure awfulness of the thought.

"C-Cause." He said, and the voice was shaking and broken.

The Doctor waited for him to continue.e

"She's my M-Momma... Daddy did bad things, but Momma was always there, a-a-and n-now..." The sobs began anew. The Doctor understood the need for both Christian and Matthew. Christian expressed the brokenness that Steve felt at the ordeal, and Matthew expressed the fearful anger that he felt but couldn't express.

"Do you feel like she didn't protect you?" He asked, quietly.

Christian Nodded.

"Are you Mad because-"

"She lied to me." Came another voice. Angry, hurt, but firm. Sam.

"About what, Sam?"

"She said she'd never be like him and she lied."

Anger at betrayal of trust- seemed about right.

"Can I talk to Steve? I want to tell him something about this that's very important."

"Then tell me."

"You're a little too young for this, Sam."

"Then tell Bucky."

"Bucky will see when I tell Steve."

"Then- Then-"

"Please, Sam? May I please speak to Steve?"

Angry, but relenting, Sam shut his eyes and Steve re-emerged.

He took in that he was in his bedroom, and his friends were in the doorway. What surprised him was Doctor Holden sitting on the bed next to him.

"Hello, Doctor." He greeted.

"Hello, Steve."

"Is there something you wanted to talk to me about? I haven't been co-conscious with any of them lately, so I don't know..."

"Steve, I did some digging after you called me, and found something I think you need to hear."

Steve blinked, but continued. "Alright."

Doctor Holden looked pointedly at the others standing in the doorway and Natasha quickly ushered them away and shut the door.

"Steve, your Mother was not herself when she did that to you. She had a mental breakdown of sorts."

Steve tried to process this in his mind, but felt a sort of block there. "What? Why?"

The Doctor paused, and Steve tensed in worry. "Steve, did you know that your Mother was raped?"

Time stopped. The breath Steve had been taking froze in his throat. He stared at the Doctor with eyes wide as saucers, and thought his heart might fail him right then and there. Unfortunately, the luxury of death did not befall him and he stammered,

"W-What?"

The Doctor paused before speaking again. "It was approximately two years before you were born. The Man had been staring at her breasts, and had taken her to an alley. She became pregnant from the assault, but miscarried the child."

"I-" But the letter was lodged beneath the lump in his throat.

"She didn't do that because she believed that you were a horrible child. She loved you with all her heart, and, after watching you see the breasts of the woman at the door, would have been terrified that you would do to others what he did to her. It triggered all the anger she likely repressed, and she had a breakdown. She never intentionally hurt you- I'm sure of that."

The first emotion that broke through the shock was relief. Momma still loved him, and was still the woman he remembered. The next emotion he felt was a blind rage that even Sam couldn't handle or express adequately enough. He'd gone into a seizure- foaming at the mouth as his body jerked and jerked and his mind was left with a blissful blackness. When he'd come to, he'd been numbed. After everyone had come in to make sure he was alright, Steve had given a silent nod. The Doctor had taken his leave shortly thereafter, knowing the Captain needed time to process the news. He'd given Bruce his card and told him to call him if Steve wasn't eating or was showing signs of another seizure.

With that, the Doctor made his exit, and Steve, shocked, hurt, angry, and weakened, fell into a fitful sleep.

**Please Review! (I have virtual hugs for those that do!)**


	15. Trust

**A/N: Hope you all are still enjoying this as much as I am!**

After the initial shock of his family's dark secret, Steve had been quiet. To a few of the other Avengers, like Bruce and Natasha, this was even more disturbing than all the crying. At least then they knew he was feeling something and could act accordingly. Now, however, the silence was oppressive with thoughts of what could be going through the Captain's head. They all wanted to check on him, to do _something_. Anything was better than standing idly by while the world Steve knew came crashing down onto his shoulders, but they knew he needed time to sort through things on his own.

Steve had curled up on his bed, quiet and contemplative. He'd slept for thirteen hours before getting up, disturbed the entire time by awful nightmares that he couldn't wake from. The images were haunting, maddening- coming up on his sanity as a wave that crashed upon a rock at high tide- eating away at it little by little, leaving less and less.

He had looked in the mirror in his room and saw only a ghost image of himself. The face was still right- or seemed to be, aesthetically. The build was still the same. The eyes were still the same baby blue they'd always been, and the hair was still honey blonde. And yet... it wasn't him. The normal face that stared back at him was one that depicted none of the horrible turmoil that was going on inside his mind and body. His brain had twisted the image of himself in the mirror into something dark and grotesque. The face was dull and bovine compared to what it should have looked like with this black knowledge. The eyes were vapid and depressed. His shoulders had slumped in, making him think he looked like Quasimodo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The once perfectly coiffed hair was frizzy and mussed. No expression covered his face, and he wondered if his lips would ever twitch into a smile again. He didn't see a soldier or even a man- he simply saw a monster.

Now, he lay there on his back, looking at the picture of his Momma that he kept at his nightstand, wondering what had happened that had allowed her to keep moving forward. How did she even meet his Daddy if that had happened? Did she not learn from that? He stared at the ceiling, wondering if he'd ever really know the answer, and had finally conceded that perhaps only God knew the answer to this query. He had lain there for another hour, letting his mind drift and wander until he no longer formed a coherent thought. He saw colors come in shapeless blurbs behind his eyelids, and had taken the time to watch them dance and to try and forget- even a little. After a while he'd realized that endeavor was fruitless and decided to give up. He'd lain there a few minutes more, focusing on breathing before turning on his side. He looked at the picture again, and suddenly it had clicked for him. For the first time since finding out, his thoughts went into a more positive place. Momma _had _moved on, and had kept moving forward because she had a family that had needed her. _He _had needed her, and she couldn't afford to let him down. She had moved on for him- all her hard work, love, and attention had gone to him.

She loved him. Momma really did love him.

He didn't know where this sudden knowledge had come from- perhaps from God, or maybe somewhere deep inside. He couldn't bring himself to care. He had helped her heal, and that was a privilege. Tears of relief had beelined down his face and for the first time in recent memory, he smiled- a real, genuine smile, not the fake, plastic one he'd put on his face the past few days when his friends had come to see him. He had finally felt happy.

After the relief had finished leaking from his eyes, he'd decided to cautiously open his door. He'd looked around to see that the hall was mercifully clear, and carefully took a step outside. It hadn't been as worrying as he'd have thought it to be. Feeling a bit more confident, he stepped forward again and was able to see the living room where all his friends were. He walked in casually and sat in an armchair, trying to make it seem like nothing. He'd looked up, a bit surprised, to see five faces smiling at him. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He'd hadn't necessarily enjoyed being the center of attention in the forties, but at least it had been a switch from being in the background all the time. His dislike had been somewhat numbed because it had been a refreshing change. Now, all he ever was in this century was a national icon, and the center of attention, and it had finally hit him that he _despised _being in the spotlight all the time. He was no longer mollified to it. As his friends stared at him now, however, he couldn't bring himself to be angry because of one solid fact that he knew to be true: They cared.

He smiled back at them. It had taken him some time to build his trust in them back to where it was after finding out they'd hidden the alters from his knowledge, but with each day it grew a little more. Now, he realized, it was back to where it once was, and was possibly a little stronger. It was time they'd understood what all the crying and anger and fear of the past few days had been about. Drawing in a breath to steady himself, he launched into the tale of his Momma's darkened past.

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